


Boy Mine

by besanii



Series: Boy Mine [1]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Regency, Bearded Grantaire, First Kiss, First Meetings, First Time, Frottage, Intercrural Sex, Kissing, Library Sex, M/M, Smut, Submissive Enjolras, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Virgin Enjolras
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-03
Updated: 2014-03-02
Packaged: 2018-01-11 02:49:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1167749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/besanii/pseuds/besanii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You are clever, Master Enjolras," Grantaire says.  His breath is hot against Enjolras’ lips and sets his cheeks aflame once more.  "I look forward to uncovering many more of your marvels while you are at court."</p><p>"Then I shall do my best not to disappoint, Your Highness," Enjolras breathes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A marvel

**Author's Note:**

> This was written based on a prompt I received on Tumblr, which asked for Regency AU.
> 
> My apologies to the anon for this, because it's historically and culturally inaccurate like _whoa_ and I focused mainly on the UST and kissing (and submissive Enjolras). 
> 
> Enjolras is 16, the sheltered son of a minor noble, and Grantaire is the 24-year-old Prince Regent whose father was deemed unfit to rule. Enjolras' parents relocate them to court in hopes of getting in the Prince Regent's good graces and thus raising their position in society (especially if Enjolras becomes a favourite).

_The King is ill._

That’s what the letter says and its arrival spurs Enjolras’ parents into a flurry of activity, preparing to move into court with the new season.  They try to get him involved in the preparations, sending tailors and jewellers and other trinket-makers to his rooms, outfitting him with a brand new wardrobe for his first presentation to the royal court.

He, himself, remains disinterested in the proceedings.  He knows his parents are well acquainted with the Prince – nay, the Prince Regent – a man eight years his senior, but he has heard the man is a spendthrift and lacks the proper temperament for ruling.  He has heard the Prince Regent prefers merriment and drink to heavy discussions, the pursuit of lovemaking to statecraft and thinks little of war and the people.

Enjolras believes his parents mean to procure him a position in the court as one of the king’s men, perhaps as a stepping stone into the Privy Council, but Enjolras doubts this will eventuate as they wish.  He has no plans to tie himself to a fool, even if that fool were to one day be king.

He hides himself away in the rooms set aside for their family once they arrive, taking his meals alone and venturing out only when he is certain that the court has retired for the night.  He gets lost trying to find the library, and quite literally runs into a man on the stairs.  He loses his balance and pitches forward with little grace.

"Steady there, boy," the man says, catching him in his arms as if he weighed no more than a doll.  He smells of sweat and mulled wine.  "Mind where you step."

Enjolras finds himself entranced by the icy blue eyes barely inches from his own and a strange fluttering in his chest renders him suddenly speechless.  He takes in his rugged appearance, the strong, masculine jawline and broad shoulders upon which his own pale hands rest as dainty as a maiden’s, and feels heat pool in his stomach.

"I beg your pardon, sir," he says, righting himself.  "I did not mean to accost you like this."

"And yet you did," the man breathes.  Enjolras notes how the man’s large hands remain resting on his waist.  He flushes and the stirring in his belly grows stronger.  "I cannot say I am displeased.  On the contrary, this is a very fortunate occurrence.  Say, boy, who is your family?  I have not seen you at court this season."

"Enjolras, sir," he replies.  The man hums.  "We are newly arrived at court.  I have not yet been presented."

The man hums again and the sound sends a thrill through Enjolras.  He shivers as the man’s eyes wander over his body.

"You should come to court on the morrow," he says.  He licks his lips and Enjolras cannot help following the motion with fascination.  "I am most certain you will be well received by the Prince."

"Prince Regent."

The man lifts an eyebrow in amusement.  ”Pardon me?”

Enjolras blushes.  ”Would I not be received by the Prince Regent –  _My Lord Grantaire_?”

Grantaire laughs.  The corners of his eyes crinkle, warming the icy blue gaze with affection and Enjolras feels as if his heart would soar.  The Prince Regent steps forward to align their bodies and in this position his superior stature towers over Enjolras by an entire head.  His hands tug firmly on the slim waist and Enjolras goes willingly, allowing himself to be lifted until only the toes of his soft shoes have contact with the cold floor.  His heart thrums in his chest at the proximity.

"You are clever, Master Enjolras," Grantaire says.  His breath is hot against Enjolras’ lips and sets his cheeks aflame once more.  "I look forward to uncovering many more of your marvels while you are at court."

"Then I shall do my best not to disappoint, your highness," Enjolras breathes, clutching at the rich fabric of Grantaire’s tunic.  He tilts his head aside to grant access to his neck and his breath hitches at the first brush of prickly hair against the soft skin.  Grantaire hums as he noses at his jaw, tracing the gentle slope behind his ear and brushing the sensitive skin there.  Enjolras sighs.  " _My lord_ …”

"My name, young master, is  _Grantaire_.”  The words are formed around a low growl that ignites the flames already simmering in Enjolras’ belly.  A hushed whimper escapes him when a strong hand cups his jaw and tilts his face to meet Grantaire’s.  His eyes are dark with lust.  ”I shall hear it pass your fair lips, boy mine, or not at all.”

"My lord Grantaire," Enjolras says obediently.  His body feels alight with heat and sensation and he trembles with the stirrings of desire.  Grantaire groans, long and low, and catches his lips in a searing kiss.

It burns, as if his lips were caught in naked flame.  He yields to Grantaire’s expertise and meets the wet heat of his tongue with the soft pliancy of his own.  The bristles of hair along Grantaire’s jaw are rough against his cheek and neck, but he welcomes this new burn with the rest.  There is a hardness against his hip where he is caught up against the firm body, and a broken sound is torn from him when it brushes his own.

"You are an intoxicating creature, Master Enjolras," Grantaire says huskily, breaking away to mouth at his ear.  "I would have you now, if you would allow it."

"You need only command it of me," Enjolras says.  He whimpers when Grantaire nips the skin of his neck.  " _Grantaire_.”

Grantaire draws back to gaze upon him with a wondering expression.

"A marvel," he says again.  He traces the arc of one cheekbone with his thumb like fragile china.  "I would not take so precious a gift as the one you offer to me so freely, without first according you the proper respect of one of your station."

Enjolras leans into his touch and lowers his gaze.

"My lord is too kind."

Grantaire steps away, leaving only their hands joined.  Enjolras falls back onto his feet, the night chill seeping into his skin from the sudden departure of heat.  He shivers, but his eyes are watchful and intent as Grantaire brings the smaller hand to his lips, brushing a feather-light kiss on his knuckles.

"Until tomorrow, then, boy mine."

He allows the hand to fall from his grasp and leaves.


	2. My name but once

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Temptations after dinner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back due to popular demand! There is one more chapter after this and then I may consider turning it into a series. Depending on how well the rest of this goes. Fingers crossed!

Grantaire is staring.

They attend the evening meal with the court the following night and Enjolras is acutely aware of the heated gaze that has followed his movements throughout the entire day.  It coaxes a gentle fluttering in his belly that leaves him unsettled during his formal presentation to the court.  He hides behind a mask of cool detachment, honed through years of practice, and dwells little on the encounter of the previous night, lest his own body betray him.

His mother, however, is an observant woman and she is immediately aware of Grantaire’s interest.  It sparks her simmering ambition, the very same ambition that had plucked them from their modest country estate to the glittering extravagance of court, and she begins to scheme.  Her constant, quiet whispers in his ear are poisonous, slowly eroding the desire that had ignited in his veins under Grantaire’s attentions.  He finds himself shivering.

Grantaire, on his part, has made no outward acknowledgement save the formalities of court.  He seems content to observe the lords and ladies engaging in idle chatter, his eyes roaming the hall.  The wine runs freely the entire night and darkens Grantaire’s visage with its effects, until it is flushed and ruddy.  His gaze caresses Enjolras like an ardent lover.

Enjolras takes his leave, murmuring a quick apology to his dinner partner – an elderly gentleman, baron to a northern estate – and weaves a path through the dancers and merrymakers to the door.  His exit is unimpeded until he turns about the staircase, veering towards the west wing.

"Master Enjolras."  His name slides like honey, rich and warm.  There is a hand at his elbow, and he turns obligingly.  Grantaire gazes down upon him, fever-bright.  "You are not retiring so soon?"

"I am afraid I must, your highness," Enjolras says.  He means to sound coolly apologetic, but it proves difficult with Grantaire in such close proximity.  "I am–"

A single finger falls gently over his lips, silencing his protests.  The touch is like a jolt of electricity that coaxes his body to respond without a thought.  His body thrums when heavy hands slide around his waist and he steps readily into Grantaire’s embrace.  His pulse quickens as Grantaire trails one hand along the back of his arm, curling behind his neck tenderly, and this thumb traces patterns on the soft skin of his jaw.

"I must insist on your presence, Master Enjolras," Grantaire says.  He breathes the words into the scant distance between their parted lips.  "I fear I would not last the night without your beauty to light the room."

He leans down and his lips find Enjolras’ throat.  The heated flesh of his tongue traces intricate designs along the expanse of delicate skin, winning a soft sigh from the boy in his arms, and he chases each motion with his lips.  Enjolras feels himself tremble, his entire body awakened by sensation, and he shifts to accommodate Grantaire’s thigh between his.

"Surely you will be missed at the feast, my lord," he says, even as his fingers press hesitantly against Grantaire’s jaw.  Grantaire allows those slender hands to guide his attentions towards Enjolras’ waiting lips.

"Not I," Grantaire breathes between soft kisses.  "My lords and ladies of the court are lost to their cups and the promise of dancing.  They will not notice if we should retire early."

“ _Ah_ …” Enjolras turns his head from Grantaire’s and halts his chasing lips with a gentle hand.  ”I desire nothing more, my lord.  But the hour grows late and I fear my parents shall be headed this way and it would be improper…”

Grantaire’s eyes dart about, only seeming to register the public nature of their surroundings.  Enjolras presses his body close, exploring the coarse hairs on Grantaire’s jaw with his fingertips, breathless with anticipation.  After an eternity of contemplation, Grantaire turns back to him with intent.  He takes hold of Enjolras’ hands in his.

"Come then, boy mine, say my name but once and we shall make for a more intimate setting," he says.  He presses a kiss to the dainty fingers, his eyes catching Enjolras’ own with fervent desire.  "My name from your fair lips is all I ask."

His thigh, caught between Enjolras’ own, shifts almost imperceptibly.  Heat surges through Enjolras’ body, setting his body aflame with lust, and he arches into the touch with a soft whimper.  His mouth is by Grantaire’s ear, bent as he is towards him, and he breathes his next words, wracked with desire.

"Then take me, for I am yours," he says.  " _Grantaire_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come say hi on [tumblr!](http://besanii.tumblr.com/)


	3. Aflame

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grantaire is fire and Enjolras is aflame.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The final part to Boy Mine! Thank you for reading, sexy times ahead ;)
> 
> This was dedicated to [littlewadoo](http://littlewadoo.tumblr.com/) for their amazing art that you can find here.

They are holding hands.

It is folly, he thinks, to be inflamed by so simple a thing.  It is the chastest of touches he has shared with Grantaire in their short acquaintance, and yet the sensation of hard, calloused skin against his own soft, smooth hand sets a warmth curling deep in his belly.

He allows himself to be led, until they happen across an ornate door.  Grantaire pauses in his steps before it and turns, pulling Enjolras close until his next words fall directly into his ear.

"Speak now, fair Enjolras, if your desires have changed," he says, "for I do not believe myself capable of restraint once we have crossed the threshold."

A sigh passes Enjolras’ lips.

"I fear, my lord, that there is no hope of escaping me now," he says.  Grantaire’s hand on his waist strengthens.  "I have made my choice."

Grantaire catches his lips for a brief, fierce kiss that leaves him breathless and wanting, before he pushes open the door and guides them inside.

It is a library.  One of many, as Enjolras understands, and unlit save for the sliver of moonlight hidden between the heavy drapes of the window.  The musky scent of heavy tomes fills his nose, bringing with it a pleasing warmth in his chest different to the urgent stirrings of desire that simmers in his veins.  He is allowed a brief moment of respite as Grantaire turns the lock, before he is swept into powerful arms.

The drapes are pulled back to reveal a small alcove, flooded with soft, silvery light.  It is here that Grantaire sets him on his feet once more, pressing him against the cold stone wall.

"My lord," he gasps, clutching at the tunic beneath his fingers and baring his neck to Grantaire’s attentions.  "My lord,  _ah_ –”

The coarse hairs on Grantaire’s jaw are rough against the delicate skin of his neck and he thrills at the memory of the marks that had remained after their encounter the previous night.  A whimper is torn from his lips when Grantaire ventures lower, hot tongue tracing patterns against his collarbone.  Deft hands loosen the ties of his tunic and undershirt and he shivers when the skin of his shoulders are bared.  Grantaire groans.

"You are a vision, master Enjolras," he says as he pulls back to gaze upon Enjolras with hunger in his eyes.  "Never have I seen a sight as lovely as the one before me now."

He presses close once more, his hands reaching for slim hips.  Enjolras feels himself lifted, his legs parting as his feet lose contact with the floor, and Grantaire’s own slips in between them.  The hands at his hips shift until he is astride Grantaire’s firm thigh, their bodies aligned from shoulder to knee.  He moans softly.

"Have you known the touch of another?" Grantaire rasps in his ear.  Enjolras whimpers as the thigh rubs insistently against his hardness, and shakes his head.  Grantaire chuckles.  "Then it will be my honour to educate you in the pleasures of your own body, boy mine."

His hands slide around to cup the gentle swell of Enjolras’ buttocks and his breath escapes his body in a high-pitched whine, the shift causing his hardness to rub against the thigh beneath him and heat surges through his body in waves.  His hips move of their own accord, seeking the source of pleasure again and again.

"If only you could see yourself in such a state," Grantaire groans, his lips hot against Enjolras’ neck.  "Rutting against my leg, desperate for my touch – would you like me to touch you, Enjolras?  You are so very beautiful, a vision of debauchery–"

His face flushes, whether it be with embarrassment or pleasure Enjolras is uncertain, and he reaches up with trembling hands to Grantaire’s jaw.  He brings their lips together in hopes of halting the words spilling forth.  Grantaire delves between his parted lips, drinking the taste of honeyed wine from Enjolras’ tongue and drawing out a broken cry as their hips press against each other.

"My lord," Enjolras gasps, turning his head from his insistent lips.  The flush is high on his cheeks, his words punctuated by soft whimpers, his movements quickening against Grantaire.  "My lord, I am – I –"

"Come, boy mine," Grantaire says.  He shifts yet again and Enjolras had not thought it were possible to meld into one with another before now.  "Do not leave me wanting, Enjolras, for the vision of your countenance as you reach the height of your pleasure."

Grantaire is fire and Enjolras is aflame.

He is surrounded, drowning in the heat and desire that threatens to consume him whole, his breath leaving his body in gasps and choked whimpers.  He has lost all semblance of control over his limbs – his arms are trapped between their entwined bodies, clutching desperately at Grantaire’s shoulders even as his clothing fall away from his own with each jerk of his hips.  His legs burn with the effort to sustain his constant movement, and yet the pain is lost in a haze of pleasure and desperation.

There are lips against his ear, spilling words of encouragement that his brain cannot possibly comprehend, and those lips leave a blazing trail against his skin towards his lips, before those are captured as well.  At his rear, the hands have begun to move, delving into the crease and stroking the sensitive skin through his soft leggings.

His world shatters in a blaze of white.

Grantaire swallows his cry whole, no mind paid to the dampness spreading from within his leggings.  His hands continue their firm strokes as he shakes apart in his arms.

"– _beautiful_ ,” he hears Grantaire say, when the haze begins to clear away from his mind.  ”I would content myself with this sight for all my days to come and yearn for nothing more than my name upon your lips…”

The strength sapped from his body, Enjolras rests against the wall, the cold stone seeping into his heated flesh like a welcome breeze.  He breathes deeply and watches Grantaire from beneath heavy lashes.  The prince regent is wild with arousal, his eyes dark with lust so different from the coldness of their hue.  He is still hard against Enjolras’ hip.

"Will you not…" he turns his head aside demurely, the words trapped on his tongue.  "Will you not take your pleasure, my lord?"

"I am afraid it will be too taxing on you, boy mine," Grantaire says.  He tips his head so that his nose traces the line of Enjolras’ jaw.  "There is time yet for such things."

They trade soft kisses, languid now that the urgency has faded, but Enjolras pulls away.  He presses insistent fingers against Grantaire’s neck, sweeping down towards his broad shoulders.

"I wish to give you pleasure, my lord."  His voice is low and husky, barely out of boyhood.  "You must show me how to please you."

Grantaire regards him a moment with wonder.

"You never cease to amaze, young master," he says with a fond smile.  "Very well, if you insist upon it–"

"I do, my lord."

"–shall I spend between your thighs, then, as lovers of old have done before us?"

The words set Enjolras’ cheeks aflame.  When he dips his head in acquiescence, Grantaire brings their lips together in a lingering kiss, before he steps away.  Without the heat of his body, Enjolras is left trembling, the moonlight casting an ethereal glow about his pale skin.  His hands reach for Grantaire’s laces.

"I have never seen another man before now," he says quietly.  The colour burns high on his cheeks as he tugs the laces free, easing the folds of the leggings away from Grantaire’s hips.

Grantaire places his hands over Enjolras’ own, stilling their movements.  He tilts the boy’s face to his with a finger beneath his chin.

"There is nothing to fear, boy mine," he says.  "I will not hurt you."

He kisses Enjolras once more, gently, and eases him around so that he faces the wall.  Enjolras tangles his hands in the drapes to hide their trembling, resting his forehead against the cool stone.  He shudders when he feels the press of Grantaire’s body against his, the powerful form draped over his own, those same deft hands reaching for the laces of his damp leggings.

His skin is bared with reverence as his leggings pool about his ankles.  He shudders again when Grantaire’s hand trails along the inside of his thigh, catching the remnants of his release cooling against the soft, unblemished skin.  His other hand steals beneath Enjolras’ shirt, draped loosely about his slender frame without the confines of his leggings, dancing across the smooth expanse of his torso.

“ _My lord_ ,” he sighs.  He feels the prickle of Grantaire’s jaw against his naked shoulder.  ” _Ahh_ …”

"My beautiful boy," Grantaire murmurs, his lips and tongue mapping their way across the back of his neck.  "I would have you like this a thousand times if I could.  I would teach you all the pleasures of the flesh and you will learn to crave my touch, to hunger for it."

He crowds close and Enjolras feels the heated, solid flesh of Grantaire’s member slip between his thighs.  He whimpers as it runs along the crease of his buttocks, easing its path with the dampness of his release.

"You must cradle it," Grantaire tells him, nudging his feet closer together.  "It is better like this."

Another broken whimper is torn from his lips as the tip of member nudges his own, reigniting the desire that he’d thought sated and gone.  He clutches the drapes harder and rocks his hips backward, seeking friction.

"My lord – ah,  _ah_ ,” he gasps.  His own member is stirring once more, beneath the folds of his shirt and he cries out when a hand grasps it firmly

The easy slides become thrusts, brutal and fast, and Enjolras is overwhelmed.  Sounds he’d not thought himself possible of making are torn repeatedly from his throat, dragging themselves from his lips with every thrust and every stroke from Grantaire’s skilled hand.  It is too hot, it burns his very flesh like an unquenchable flame he has come to associate with Grantaire, and he craves it.

Grantaire mouths at the shell of his ear.

"My name, young master," he says.  "What is my name?"

“ _Grantaire_ ,” Enjolras cries. _  
_

He spills, for a second time, into Grantaire’s waiting hand.  His body clenches with the tension of release and he dimly hears Grantaire groan, his head buried against Enjolras’ shoulder, before he spends himself also.  Their release coats Enjolras’ thighs, trickling hot and thick.  He allows his head to be tilted back, meeting Grantaire’s waiting lips readily, already hazy with exhaustion.

They stand, cradled against each other, for long moments after, basking in the glow of pleasure.  It is not until they hear distant footsteps echo that they stir, albeit reluctantly.

"I must return to my rooms," Enjolras says.  He bends to retrieve his garments.  "The festivities are long over."

They dress in silence.  There is nothing to be done for his spoiled leggings, but Enjolras doubts it would make a difference to his parents.  He turns, fastening his tunic, and Grantaire pulls him close again.

"I cannot bear to be parted from you," he says, kissing his lips softly.  "I fear I can no longer spend a night without you by my side, Enjolras."

"We must."  Enjolras returns his kisses with fervour.  "The very thought of returning to my parents’ rooms tonight is unbearable, but that is where I belong, Grantaire, and where I should go."

“ _No_ ,” Grantaire breathes.  ”I shall give you rooms by my own.  It is simple.  I will give you a position as one of my men – it is reason enough to grant you rooms beside my own.  Your place is by my side, Enjolras, and I will have you with me.” _  
_

Enjolras smiles.

"Nothing would please me more,  _Grantaire_.”

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on [tumblr!](http://besanii.tumblr.com)


End file.
